To Seek a Master (26 page)

‘I want to kill the bastard. Not literally, but you know what I mean.’

‘Rise above it, that’s my advice.’

‘You said the same about Brian, but it was much more fun tipping paint over him. I’ll cherish the memory forever too, but if I’d let him get away with it I’d always feel bad. I’m not as strong as you, Charles, and I’m no good at all at putting bad things behind me. For Christ’s sake, I still resent Charlotte West for not inviting me to her fifth birthday party!’

‘You are a very sensitive girl, but please, take my advice. Be proud and rise above it.’

‘I can’t, and I’ll tell you what’s worse. I told you Hazel Manston-Jones spanked me, didn’t I, and how many times I’ve come over the memory? How do you think that feels, now she’s cost me my job?’

‘Is she necessarily to blame? It strikes me that the responsibility lies entirely with Mr Drake, who has obviously lied to her just as he lied to you.’

‘Do you think so? I reckon she put him up to it, just to get back at me.’

‘I admit that is possible, but I don’t think it’s very likely. I think it much more likely that he instigated the demand for your dismissal in order to impress her with the supposed truth of his story.’

‘He still cheated on her though.’

‘Yes, but as you were caught
in flagrante delicto
he can hardly claim that nothing happened, so that trying to blame you becomes his best option while he may well have painted himself into a corner, so to speak, and therefore found it necessary to make his claims formal. Lies, after all, have a nasty habit of needing fresh lies to support them.’

‘That’s true. Oh well, maybe she won’t believe him anyway.’

‘That’s always possible, or she might believe him but reject him anyway.’

‘Or take him back but use what happened to keep him in line. He would not like that.’

‘In any event, their relationship is almost certainly doomed to failure.’

‘Good.’

23

CHARLES LEFT IN
the morning, on the same train Laura had taken day after day for so long, failing to catch it on only a handful of occasions and staying in bed only during rare bouts of illness. It felt strange to be lying there with the sun on her face and Smudge sitting in the corner with his lead in his mouth, looking hopeful, exactly as if it had been the weekend. She felt curiously numb, despite the occasional instinctive flicker of panic at the thought that it was a Friday and she was still in bed when she should have been at work.

At last she got up, but only to potter around the house doing minor and largely unnecessary jobs. Again and again she thought of Christopher Drake, cursing him and wondering what chance she had of getting another job after what had happened. The UK switchgear industry was far too small for her to avoid becoming the girl who’d offered sex to seal a contract, even if anybody did take her on, while in any other industry she would have problems without specialist knowledge or a track record, to say nothing of the difficulty of getting references.

Charles had suggested selling up and moving in with him, so casually that he had made it seem the obvious solution. She could see the appeal, but while sacrificing her sexual independence was as desirable as it was exciting, it was harder to let go of her financial independence. If she did, and signed her contract, she would be his completely, all day and every day, making her surrender to him an immediate reality.

She had said she needed time to think before she could give an answer, which he had accepted with the same level-headed calm he brought to everything. Now, with nothing to do but think, she found it impossible to separate her emotional needs from the cold practicalities of her situation. She had built up enough equity in her flat to leave her with money in the bank, but that didn’t seem to matter, nor the clause in her contract allowing her to manage her own work affairs, because she knew that once she had signed, the last thing she would want was a job, let alone one in which any man other than Charles had authority over her.

In an effort to cheer herself up, she tried to think about the coming weekend, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to recapture the sense of absolute freedom she had enjoyed so much, nor fully enjoy Charles until she had managed to clear her head of what Christopher Drake had done. She was also taking Smudge, Mrs Phipps having dropped a heavy hint that four weekends of dog sitting in a row would be stretching what could be expected of good neighbours. Despite Charles’ affinity with animals, Laura wasn’t at all sure he would be able to spank her in Smudge’s presence without alarming consequences.

That put a smile on her face, but only briefly. She had soon begun to brood again, and picked up
Brigands of Barbary
in the hope of losing herself in the wilds of North Africa and the travails of the heroine, Olivia Silverthorn. Olivia had a bit more spirit than Evangeline Tarrington, and rather than simply feeling proud and resentful while waiting for the hero to turn up, actually did something about it for herself. On the other hand the hero, Daniel Lock, seemed a bit of a dead loss. Despite considerable provocation he had failed to put Olivia across his knee once in nearly a hundred pages. Nor had the Arab slave traders proved any better, more concerned with the quality of
her
skin and teeth than with tying her up or smacking her bottom. However, now that Olivia had been sold for three camels and a goat it seemed entirely possible that her new owner, Hasan Hasan, would know how the heroine of an adventure romance ought to be treated.

… beside his single remaining goat stood Hasan Hansan, his physical aspect alone enough to cause Olivia to place one dainty hand to the rosebud of her mouth. Six feet six he stood, crabbed and gaunt, his body wiry from the deprivations of the desert and scarred by the knives of old enemies long since fallen. A meagre loincloth shrouded his scrawny shanks, his sole garment save for sandals, crossed dagger belts and a cloak of rich peacock blue he must have stolen, probably from the body of some luckless merchant. His visage was more alarming still: a nose like the beak of a monstrous hawk, eyes like those of a slinking, predatory cat, a mouth like the slit of some horrid hell barred by teeth like broken tombstones. To make matters worse, his expression was a crapulent leer as he spoke.

‘So, my pale petal of the chilly north,’ he drawled dirtily, in, to Olivia’s considerable surprise, remarkably good English, ‘what has my purchase bought me? Come, I wish to see you – naked!’

Olivia Silverthorn screamed in horror and shame for the thought of having to disrobe for this repulsive specimen, and, without thinking, lashed out one dainty foot at the tip of a long, dancer’s leg. Hasan Hasan, caught squarely in the wind, vanished over the precipice, along with his goat.

Laura pursed her lips with a touch of irritation. She had been hoping for more from Hasan Hasan and his goat, but after
dropping
over the edge of a precipice described as – ‘… a wall of naked rock higher than the topmost topaz of some ancient tower’ – it didn’t seem likely that they’d be up to much, while Olivia was now alone in the Atlas Mountains, not even at anybody’s mercy, never mind in imminent danger of having her bottom compromised. Nevertheless, there was a certain satisfaction to the scene.

Olivia, Laura was sure, would not have meekly resigned herself to being pushed out of her job by some lying little bastard. Had Christopher Drake turned up in
Brigands of Barbary
he would have been some unprincipled rake and seducer, and with any luck have ended up at the bottom of the precipice with Hasan Hasan and the goat. It was just a shame that reality always had to get in the way, or she might have taken a leaf out of Olivia’s book herself.

She went back to brooding on Christopher Drake, the book held limp in her hands. The more she thought about him, the less she felt able to enjoy the prospect of the weekend. To submit herself sexually to Charles she needed to feel good, confident and feminine, not crushed, and yet it was appalling to think of Christopher Drake spoiling her relationship with Charles as well as getting her the sack. Something had to be done, even if it was only to tell the bastard what she thought of him to his face.

Laura swung her legs off the sofa, determined to confront him. She knew the address of the Maxwell-Boyce plant off by heart, and if she drove fast she could catch him before lunch, or better still, in the works canteen where she could show him up in front of his colleagues. It had to be done, before common sense could get the better of her, and she had gone into automatic as she grabbed her bag and left the house.

She drove fast, with the radio turned up in an effort to keep her emotions high as she thought of all the things she could say
to
him. The list was long enough for a sizeable speech by the time she reached Peterborough and her nerve held as she parked the car and started towards the plant. Only as she approached reception did she begin to falter, realising that her plan of marching straight in and asking some random employee for his office was impractical. A smart, blonde-haired receptionist sat behind the desk, looking horribly efficient, while two large security guards flanked the doors. They had seen her, and it was too late to back down. Walking at her most businesslike clip, she approached the desk.

‘Good morning. I am Miss Silverthorn. I wish to see Mr Drake, in purchasing.’

‘Good morning, Miss Silverthorn. Mr Drake is out of the office at present. Did you have an appointment?’

Laura hesitated, all her stubborn determination gone on the instant.

‘Um … no, that is …’

‘Ah, here is his personal assistant. Perhaps she’ll be able to help you?’

Laura turned sharply, to find Hazel Manston-Jones stepping out of a lift, just yards away, as tall and cool and elegant as ever. It was too late to avoid eye contact, while the receptionist was already speaking.

‘Hazel. This is Miss Silverthorn. She was hoping to have a word with Mr Drake.’

Hazel had stopped, and to Laura’s astonishment looked neither angry nor cold, but worried, while there was something close to panic in her voice as she gave a hasty response to the receptionist.

‘Yes, I’ll deal with this, thank you, Amanda. Laura, I think I … look, can we step outside?’

Laura nodded, cautious, but there was nothing in the other woman’s manner to suggest hostility. Outside the main doors,
Hazel
ran a hand across her brow, speaking quickly but in little more than a whisper.

‘I owe you an apology, I know. I was angry and I shouldn’t have done it, and I know Chris hadn’t told you about us, but … anyway, I did it and I’d like to say sorry.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Hazel had been about to speak again, but stopped. Laura went on, her confidence rising in the face of Hazel’s obvious alarm.

‘Sorry for what, for spanking me or for costing me my job?’

‘Costing you your job?’

‘Yes, my job. What do you think happened when my boss got your bastard boyfriend’s complaint?’

‘He didn’t send that, did he?’

‘He did. I got sacked.’

‘Oh hell. I am sorry, Laura. I told him not to, but … look, could we talk somewhere else? There are too many ears flapping around here.’

Laura sipped at her gin and tonic, listening as Hazel struggled to explain her situation. They were in the back bar of a small pub, once isolated, now swallowed by the industrial estate on which the Maxwell-Boyce plant was built. With some time yet to go before the lunch hour, they had the tiny room to themselves.

‘… but it’s not as simple as that. His uncle is our CEO, and Daddy’s on the Board. They’ve been friends since school, they both think the sun shines out of his backside and that we make the perfect couple. We’re supposed to be getting married in June, the Full Monty, in the cathedral with half-a-dozen bridesmaids and flower girls and bishops and … you get the picture. I wouldn’t mind. I always wanted a big wedding, but not to Chris Drake.’

‘Why are you still together then?’

‘We’re not. That’s what I was trying to explain. After what happened in Sheringham I told him where he could stick himself, but he won’t listen. He’s unbelievably arrogant, and thinks he just has to wait until I calm down. I told Daddy, but he tried to talk me out of it, telling me that boys will be boys and then inviting Chris up for the weekend to have a quiet word. That’s when Chris started saying you’d offered him sex in exchange for a good deal on the contract, just to save face, but Daddy’s really old-fashioned about that sort of thing, and well, you know the rest. I did try to talk him out of it, Laura, and I am genuinely sorry for what happened.’

‘Thank you. So, what are you going to do?’

‘Have another drink. Let me get you one.’

Laura didn’t object, and Hazel quickly returned to the table with two fresh gin and tonics but each twice the size of before.

‘I have to drive.’

‘I don’t.’

Hazel took a swallow of her drink, then sat down.

‘So that’s the story. I can talk to him, if you like?’

‘No. It’s too late. There were problems at work anyway, and as it happens I’m with somebody else, somebody I met only a few days after … you know. He’s wonderful.’

‘Good. That’s something.’

She took another swallow, then laughed.

‘I thought you were going to hit me when you came into the building. You looked fit for murder.’

‘I felt fit for murder, but it wasn’t you I was after. I was going to tell Chris what I thought of him.’

‘I wish you had. He’s at a conference in Lille.’

‘Bad timing, like in Sheringham.’

Laura risked a cautious smile as she spoke. Hazel shrugged, embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’

They fell into an awkward silence, eventually broken by Hazel.

‘That wasn’t the first time he’s cheated on me.’

‘No?’

‘No. It was the first time I actually caught him at it, but I’m certain he’s had at least one other affair. Most of the time it’s been … different.’

‘How do you mean?’

Hazel didn’t answer immediately, staring out of the window as if lost in thought before she replied.